Fate has Other Plans
by CaliBeachBum
Summary: Erik flees Paris after the opera fire, however soon his journey takes him to a place he never expected: California in the year 2005. EOW
1. Prologue: The Voyage of his Life

_**Hi, this is my first phanfic! Read and review, please, but above all, enjoy!**_

**_The usual disclaimer: The characters and storyline of _Phantom of the Opera_ do not belong to me._**

_**Now on with the show!**_

_Prologue: The Voyage of his Life_

_1871 Somewhere on the Atlantic Ocean_

Erik stood at the bow of the ship, the wind screaming in his ear and whipping his hair and cape about in a frenzy. "Christine…" he sobbed, the salty tears of his eyes mixing with the sprays of ocean water upon his face. Touching a gloved hand to his temple, he recollected the events of earlier that evening.

_Christine… my Angel… gone._

He touched his fingers to his lips and closed his eyes, hoping to relive that kiss in his mind again and again. That kiss had both shattered his soul and set it free at the same time. He had been caught entirely off guard when Christine, his Angel, kissed him. For the first time in his life, Erik had felt compassion in his heart and it was in that moment that he realized he could not keep Christine underground with him. She belonged with that insufferable boy. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, the Vicomte would be able to give her everything she ever dreamed of and more. The boy would adore her until her dying day. The thought that Christine would be adequately taken care of comforted him. The boy would give her the life that he could never offer.

Behind him the crew of the ship scurried around, trying to get their grasps on various ropes as they billowed in the winds. The storm rocked the tiny ship, waves crashing against its side, threatening to capsize it. Amid the shouts of the crew, all Erik could hear were the mob's cries echoing through the passageways under the Paris Opera House.

_Track down this murderer- he must be found!_

_Hunt down this animal- who runs to ground!_

_Too long he's preyed on us but now we know!_

_The Phantom of the Opera is there deep down below!_

He had barely escaped the angry mob, having time only to grab a coin purse, his heaviest black cloak with a hood, and a leather mask. As he made his way through the maze of his underground lair and out of the Opera House, he was grateful that the mask he had chosen was black, able to blend into his hood much better than the white of his porcelain mask. Somehow he had managed the strength to reach his horse and ride to the nearest coastline. The landscape appeared as a blur to him, unable to wipe the tears that fell from his eyes. Finally reaching a dock, he had found a ship that was departing imminently. He procured a place upon the ship, paying more than three times what a seat should have cost to ensure that no one disturb him during the voyage. Where was he going again? Even he could not remember the destination! Although he loved Paris with a passion, he could not bear to look upon anything that would remind him of Christine. There were far too many memories—he would go wherever fate would take him.

Suddenly, a giant wave descended upon him, knocking him out of the stupor of recollection. The rain fell heavier and winds whipped the ship across the waves. Thunder pounded in his ears as the ship lurched to the left, causing him to lose his balance. Just as quickly, another wave hit the ship and tipped it dangerously to the right, sending Erik flying through the air and off the deck of the ship. The cold water filled his mouth and nostrils. Before the darkness enveloped him completely, he saw Christine's face calling out to him.

_Pitiful creature of darkness, what kind of life have you known?_

_God give me courage to show you, you are not alone!_

But it was not yet his time to go. Fate had other plans for him…


	2. Chapter 1: A Strange Discovery

_Chapter One: A Strange Discovery_

_June 2005 San Diego, California_

Rosalyn stepped on the gas of her SL500 Roadster, careening along the familiar curves of La Jolla Shores Drive. With the top down, she took in the refreshing scent of the ocean as her hair fluttered wildly, creating a frenzied dance with the wind. _Damn_, she thought. _She was going to have a hell of a time brushing her hair after this!_ Whenever she could not sleep or had a lot on her mind, she would take off to the beach in her convertible, blasting the music so she could hear it above the wind. Tonight it was System of a Down. The loud guitar riffs energized her and made her want to scream until her voice became hoarse, until her problems were out of her system.

"_Why have you forsaken me?_

_In your eyes forsaken me,_

_In your thoughts forsaken me,_

_In your heart forsaken me, ohhh_

_I don't think you trust_

_in… my… self-righteous suicide_

_I cry_

_when angels deserve to die."_

As she pulled into a parking spot on the left, she looked at her watch. _3:00_ _AM_. Thankfully, she would have the beach to herself. She tried to run her fingers through her hair and found a knotted mess. As she made her way down the steps toward the beach, she pulled her hair into a low and sloppy bun, tugging the hood of her sweater over her head. "Maybe I should've worn toe socks," she muttered under her breath, glancing down to the flip flops on her feet. She sat down on one of the boulders above the sandy beach and closed her eyes to listen to the sound of the waves crashing against one another. No matter how long she had lived in San Diego, she found that she could never grow tired of the beach and the ocean.

She couldn't sleep that night…again. Done with finals, she thought the summer break would be a welcome relief to the constant worry of term papers and midterms, but boredom had settled earlier than she expected. Only ten days had passed since her last final and she was restless already. _Maybe I should take a road trip, or fly off to an exotic location! _She furrowed her brow and looked as far as she could at the dark horizon. Procrastination! That was her problem. She dreamed of visiting far away destinations yet she never managed to actually begin planning these trips, making one excuse or another.

She looked down to the sandy shore on the left of the boulders, trying to decide whether or not she wanted the feeling of sand between her toes. From the corner of her eye she saw a form being pushed by the waves toward the shore. _Holy shit, was that a body?_ Quickly, yet careful enough that she wouldn't slip on the slick boulders, she made her way toward it and dragged it out of the water. It was a man! "Hey, are you ok?" she yelled. She struggled to pull the man further away from the waves, gently placing his head in her lap. As she turned him face up, she gasped at the deformed face that stared back at her. The rise and fall of the man's chest signaled that he was breathing yet unconscious. She hovered above his face and strained to look at it with what little light the moon gave. Only the right side of his face was deformed, the skin pink with scars that resembled boils. The blue-green veins were visible beneath the thin skin and stood out more prominently, creating more ridges in his face. His right eye looked sunken and slightly lower than his left eye. The right side of his nose was caved in, as if it did not exist. His hairline was also different on the right, receding further than the left.

_Poor guy_, she thought. _I bet he had one hell of a childhood! Kids can be so cruel!_ She remembered channel surfing on another night she couldn't sleep and came upon a show about extraordinary operations. There were kids with conditions that caused their face to continue growing, making parts of their face swell up to twice its normal size. _Maybe he could get plastic surgery to fix his face._ She caressed the deformed cheek, brushing some of his hair behind his ear. At that moment, his hand shot up and grabbed her wrist. He turned away from her and violently coughed up salt water, his head rolling off her lap and onto the wet sand.

"Hey are you ok?" she asked, distressed and relieved that he had awoken. "Ouch you're hurting my wrist! Please let go!" He continued to grip her wrist until the coughing fit subsided.

"Ou' suis-je?" he asked hoarsely. _Where am I?_ Erik was sure he was dead, for how could he have survived the ocean? He even felt Christine's touch upon his face! Suddenly he opened his eyes and realized he was very much alive and someone was looking upon his face. Quick as lightning, he dropped her wrist and touched his unmasked face. He moved away from the person, conscious of the excruciating pain he received from being tossed about in the ocean.

"Qui 'etes-vouz?" he roared, his eyes glowing with anger. _Who are you_?

As the man let go of her wrist and moved away from her, she was thrown off balance and landed on her side. Was that French he was speaking? She attempted to recall the French she had taken in high school, trying to sound as calm as possible.

"Parlez-vouz Anglais?... Je m'appelle Rosalyn..." _Jeez, I am just butchering this language,_ she thought. "You are on a beach in San Diego. My name is Rosalyn. I found you here passed out and pulled you out of the water so you wouldn't drown."

Erik gripped his head with both hands, trying to comprehend what the girl had told him. Suddenly dizzy, he fell back down on the sand. She rushed to his side upon seeing that, helping him to a sitting position. Tossing his left arm around her shoulder, she tried to help him to his feet slowly.

"Come on, you can do it," she encouraged. "Slowly now. My car is up past those boulders and up the stairs. Do you think you can make it?"

Normally, he would've killed any person who had looked upon his face without the mask. But he was too weak as well as amazed that anyone would want to help a monster like him. He nodded in the affirmative to his question. As he stood up, he felt a sharp pain in his left leg and leaned on her for support. What a support she was! She stood a full foot shorter than him!

"Damn! You are a lot taller and bigger than I thought! But we can do it. It looks like your left leg is injured. Just try not to put too much weight on it!"

Painstakingly they made their way up toward the car, pausing to climb each boulder one at a time, though the tread of many beach goers had created a path that made the boulders more like uneven steps. Erik slowly lifted up his head and glanced around. The pavement was smooth unlike the cobblestone streets of Paris and in front of them sat a curious contraption. It beeped twice and flashed lights twice as Rosalyn pressed the remote control to unlock the doors to her car. She opened the door and slid him onto the passenger seat before running around to her side. Nothing made sense to him. What was all this? As Rosalyn started the engine, Erik fell back unconscious, barely feeling the wind whipping at his face.

_What am I doing?_ Rosalyn looked over at her sleeping companion.

"Who are you? Maybe I should bring him to the hospital. But he's soaking wet! If he didn't change into dry clothes, he could get pneumonia!" she argued with herself. _Who's going to change him? You?_

"I'll worry about that when the time comes. I know! I'll just bring him home." _Home? Are you crazy? What if he were some psycho killer? _

"Just for tonight. Then we'll ask him questions tomorrow, like what the hell are you doing in the ocean? I'll just make sure to lock my door tonight in case he is a crazy psycho killer." Her subconscious resigned, she sped back to her condo as quick as she could.


	3. Chapter 2: The Unexpected Nurse

_Chapter Two: The Unexpected Nurse_

Driving back to her condo, Rosalyn picked up her cell phone and pressed the speed dial to the only person she could trust: Jacob.

Jacob dreamt that he was surfing on the hood of his beloved '67 Mustang 289, not caring to question how it stayed afloat nor how the color stayed so vibrant with all the salt water around. Just as he was reaching the crest of the wave, something jolted him off the Mustang and back to reality. Without looking up, he reached for his phone to answer.

"This better be a life-threatening emergency for you to wake me up at this ungodly hour, Rose," he said begrudgingly into the receiver. Only she would ever dare call him in the middle of the night.

"Why, good evening, dear stepbrother!" Rosalyn mockingly sucked up.

"What do you want? Jesus, it's 3:45 in the morning!" finally lifting up his head to glance at the alarm clock next to his bed. "Some people have to work, you know!"

"I need your help." Rosalyn bit her lip. She knew he'd be furious with her for picking up some stranger from the beach, but she also knew that there would be no way for her to bring the unconscious stranger in her home without some muscle.

His tone suddenly changed. "What's wrong?"

"It's actually a very funny story," she giggled nervously. "I was at the beach because I couldn't sleep when all of a sudden, there was a guy in the water! At first I thought he was dead because he didn't move, but I pulled him to shore anyway. He sort of woke up, well he woke up enough that I was able to walk him to my car. But now he's unconscious and I can't carry him into my apartment because he's like a foot taller than me, so I need your help! Please!" After getting all that off her chest, she finally remembered to breathe, not knowing what to expect.

Jacob groaned; he could never refuse his baby stepsister anything, especially when she asked for his help. "Give me an hour. If I get a speeding ticket, you're paying for it!" he finally answered.

"Thank you thank you thank you!" she said happily as she closed her phone and placed it in the cupholder of her car. "Now what will I do with you in the meantime?" she asked her silent passenger.

Finally on the driveway of her condo, she parked the car and popped the trunk open. Never knowing when she would feel like going to the beach, she always had a bag of towels and extra clothes in her trunk. She ran to it, taking out two large beach towels before opening the passenger seat and covering the man with both towels. _Yikes! My car!_ There was sand everywhere, from the man's boots to his disheveled hair. _My dad would kill me if he saw this mess!_

Jacob arrived forty-five minutes after his conversation with Rosalyn, deeply thankful that there were fewer police officers on the road at this hour. He grinned at the sight that met him on the driveway. She was holding the man—presumably the one she spoke of—half out of her car, furiously sweeping over him with a towel trying to get the sand off his wet form.

"Still the neat freak, I see," he chuckled softly.

Rosalyn jumped at the sound of his voice and nearly dropped the man but luckily caught his shoulders in time. "You scared me! That was quicker than I thought!" She blushed with embarrassment that he had caught her in a moment of 'neat-freakness,' as he had dubbed it when they were younger.

"I take it, this is the man whose life you saved tonight. Why didn't you take him to a hospital?"

"I…I…" Why hadn't she gone to the hospital? She remembered seeing his face and how cruel people can be that she wouldn't have been able to stand it if the hospital refused him treatment because of how he looked. "I know how hospitals can be and I didn't know if I wanted to wait and go through all that bureaucratic shit," she lied. "Besides, I know a great doctor already!"

"I'm a plastic surgeon! I'm not qualified to do this! What if he's _beyond_ my help?" His heart broke as he saw tears well up in her eyes. He hung his head and sighed, knowing she would not let him leave until he at least looked over the unconscious stranger. "Ok, go open the front door and leave it open." She did as he said. "Now, I'll take his arms and you take his feet. We'll carry him and place him on the floor near the bathroom, ok? I want to examine him on a hard surface in case his neck is hurt."

She nodded. Getting Erik into the house was difficult as he was also taller and more broad-shouldered than Jacob. With Rosalyn helping, it made the task easier, yet it wasn't without sweat and grunts. Finally succeeding in getting their new friend into her home, they dusted off their hands and stared at him. Rosalyn turned on every light in the living room and front hallway while Jacob returned to his car to retrieve his medical tools.

Rosalyn could only stand off to the side and watch as Jacob examined the man. So many thoughts were racing through her mind. _Who is this man? Is he going to live? What was he doing in the ocean? Is he dangerous? Is someone looking for him?_ Slowly she realized that Jacob was talking to her, telling her what was wrong with the stranger.

"It doesn't look like he has pneumonia but he's definitely running a high fever. I want you to get some washcloths and dampen them to put against his forehead."

She returned quickly with the things he requested. "I think he hurt his left leg. He couldn't put his weight on it and it looked like he was walking with difficulty on it."

"No bones are broken but his left knee is swollen. It's sprained and when he wakes, make sure you keep him off his feet for at least a week. He'll be walking with a limp for at least another 2 weeks after it, but it should be fine after that. I'll leave you some gauze so you can re-wrap his knee after I leave. We should put him to bed. You haven't changed that guest room, have you?"

"No…" she said hesitantly, her cheeks blushing slightly. "It's a bit messy… but the bed should be fine."

"Why am I not surprised?" he chuckled. Again, Jacob grasped Erik's arms and torso while Rosalyn lifted his legs and they moved him to the bed in the guest room, careful to avoid the cardboard boxes strewn about the room. "How on earth did you accumulate so much stuff?" Jacob questioned after they had placed Erik on the bed.

"That's all of Dad's junk that he left here when I moved in!" she defended herself. "You forget that when this was our vacation home, we only ever came here a few weeks a year and it was always in the summertime!"

"Okay, okay," he replied, holding his arms up in an apologetic manner. "You reclaimed this place as your own. I got it." He suddenly lifted the sleeve of his left arm and gasped, "I should go. I want to have at least a short nap and shower before I see my first patient. It's not very professional to show up late at your own office!"

"But you're the boss! You can't fire yourself!" laughed Rosalyn.

"Touché, kiddo!" he grinned as his blue eyes sparkled in only the way Rosalyn could make them. "His fever should break by tonight but make sure you keep a wet cloth over his forehead." Kissing the top of her head, he said his farewells and walked out of the condo and into the cool night.

Sighing, Rosalyn closed the door and made her way back to the guest room. _It's just you and me, buddy._ She proceeded to look after her patient, all the while wondering who this strange man with an unfortunate face could be.


	4. Chapter 3: Hi, my name is Rosalyn

_Chapter Three: Hi, my name is Rosalyn_

The next morning, Rosalyn found herself laying across the foot of the guest bed, sunshine finding its way through the blinds and into her eyes. _Ugh, what time is it?_ Her eyes widened as they found the clock above the doorway. "Noon already?" she grumbled as she stood up and contemplated the events of the previous night.

Her patient was still unconscious, but he looked far better than he did last night. She placed her hand on his forehead, checking his temperature and was pleased to find that his fever had subsided. Her eyes lingered over the right side of his face. In the light of day, the skin looked far pinker than it did in the moonlight and his veins were also more visible. _Yet the skin is so soft here_, she thought as she caressed his cheek with the back of her hand.

"Pardon me, but you don't look like you'll be awake for a while," she mumbled to herself. "Time for a bit of surfing before all the good waves are gone, and the tourists grab all the good spots on the beach!" Grabbing and peeling a banana before heading into her own room, Rosalyn picked out her gold bikini, black board shorts and a white rashguard from her closet and changed into them. It was far too hot to wear a wetsuit.

When she needed to clear her thoughts at night, Rosalyn roamed the streets in her convertible, but in the daytime, if she felt troubled, all her worries melted away as soon as she hit the waves. When she moved here four years ago, the first thing she did was sign up for surfing lessons, since it was always a dream of hers and one of the reasons why she decided to go to a university in San Diego—it was far away enough from home that she could gain independence yet still be in California.

Getting to the beach was easy enough—just a short pathway from the back of her condo. Within ten minutes she was paddling out to sea, pleased to find that there were only five or six other surfers. _The less people to get in my way_, she thought, smiling.

Positioning herself to face the shore, she looked behind her and saw a series of waves coming toward her. She felt that similar rush of adrenaline as she paddled quickly toward the shore. As she felt the wave lift up her surfboard, she jumped up on her feet, riding it a mere five seconds before the wave crashed. She continued these actions until she could feel the soreness in her arms.

Sitting up on her surfboard, she cast her eyes toward her condo. _I better get back before he wakes up. Please, please, please don't let him be some psycho killer!_

On the beach, Rosalyn tore off her rashguard and let the sun warm her wet skin. Not bothering to towel off, she took that all too familiar path home and let herself air dry on the walk back, carrying the surfboard under one arm and holding the rashguard in the other.

"Rosalyn! Hey!" someone called from behind her.

Turning suddenly, her surfboard nearly collided with the man whose voice had just called her name. She stopped in the nick of time, staring into the broad chest of the poster boy for Californian surfers. Looking up, she noticed his face was slightly flushed from running after her, but his beautiful blonde locks fell perfectly down the side of his face, framing his incredibly chiseled features.

"Hi, Brett!" she forced a smile. They had gone out on a few dates during the previous school year, but she had found herself bored with him after realizing he would rather surf and party with this fraternity brothers than hold even an inkling of an intelligent conversation with her. Two months ago she stopped answering his calls.

"Enjoying your summer?" he asked, cocking his head to one side and smiling the usual brilliant smile that usually made girls swoon.

_No way, buddy,_ she thought. _Your games don't work on me anymore!_

"Yeah, I am. I'm just hanging out here until Fall quarter starts. Actually, I'm supposed to meet a friend for lunch, so I should go." She turned to leave but he grabbed her shoulder gently.

"I'm in town for the summer, too. We should get together sometime!"

_And talk about your hair?_

"Uh huh," she managed to answer through clenched teeth. This time, she turned back quickly enough that he had to jump back to avoid her surfboard. _Damn, I missed him!_

"Well, I'll give you a call then!" he shouted after her.

_Go ahead and try. I don't have to answer!_

Back in the guestroom, Erik was slightly aware that he was no longer on the ship. He opened his eyes and let them adjust to the sudden exposure to light. Though he tried to lift himself from the bed, he found that his body refused to move. A blinding pain shot through his shoulders as he tried to lift his torso, and he just collapsed back onto the bed.

_Where am I? What happened?_ He panicked. Had he been caught by the French authorities? Bits and pieces of the previous night began to come back to him.

_I remember there was mist, swirling mist upon a vast glassy lake_… no, it had been the ocean…

Just then a figure flashed quickly to his right and moved just out of the periphery of his vision. A shadow. He closed his eyes, trying to find his voice.

Rosalyn slipped through the sliding door after gently leaning her surfboard along the patio and setting her rashguard on the balcony to dry. Wiping the sand off her feet on the doormat, she walked over to the guestroom.

When Erik opened his eyes, he found a girl standing in the doorway… a half-naked girl! He swallowed his heart to get it back to its rightful place.

"You're awake! Hi, my name is Rosalyn…"

**A/N: How do you like the story so far? Please review! Also, do you think that the ALW musical and movie should exist in this alternate universe? I haven't decided yet, but I figure I'd take a poll. Please leave me a comment! Thanks! And thanks for reading this far. I'm still setting the scene before the story really takes off!**

**Oh another thing. The ship Erik was on was NOT bound for California. Through some weird rip in time (hehe in this alternate universe, of course!) Erik not only found himself transported to 2005, but to California. Don't you hate it when fate messes with you like that?**


	5. Chapter 4: Uncovering Fate's Plans

_Chapter Four: Uncovering Fate's Plans_

"You're awake! Hi, my name is Rosalyn…" she bit her lip, remembering the man had been speaking French last night. "Bonjour. Je m'appelle Rosalyn."

She racked her brain, trying to think of what else to say, but resolved to wait for his reaction before continuing. _Besides, I don't want him to know my French is crap! Not, that he doesn't know that already!_

His panic subsided a little the moment she spoke. Erik could do nothing but stare at the woman before him. Her large almond eyes—black like the night—looked at him with concern and she bit her pink lips after she finished speaking. She had long, straight black hair that, from what he could see, reached down to her waist. It was quite wet, so it was slicked back from her face, and when the sun hit it, different colors reflected out, some reddish and some golden. Quite shorter than him, he estimated that she stood at about 5'3" but held herself up to seem taller.

He was far from ignorant of other cultures, having traveled extensively after being in Persia, but he could not quite pinpoint her ethnicity. Her voice was friendly, and she spoke English with an accent he also could not place. She definitely wasn't from England, he decided.

Clearing his throat, Erik finally spoke. "Bonjour, Mademoiselle Rosalyn. I speak English, if you prefer that. You may call me Erik. If you could kindly explain where I am and what I'm doing here, it would be greatly appreciated…"

Though he tried to stop himself, his eyes lingered down her body. He had seen ballerinas changing before and knew about corsets, but he did not know what this woman in front of him wore. It was barely covering her breasts! He averted his eyes swiftly, hoping she would not think him a pervert.

"Also, if you could kindly dress yourself for modesty's sake, I would appreciate it."

The first thing Rosalyn noticed when he spoke was how musical his voice was. He had a slight French accent but pronounced his words with an English accent. _I bet he speaks a few languages. Wow, I'm such a sucker for accents!_ The second thing she noticed was the sadness in his voice, as if he had gone through a difficult ordeal and was only coming to terms with whatever had happened.

She blushed as her mind comprehended the last thing he had said. Looking down, she realized she was only wearing her bikini top and boardshorts. _Eeek!_ Though she was desensitized of seeing half-naked forms on the beach, she was still self-conscious about her own body. Running into her own room, she quickly pulled on a hooded sweatshirt and pulled the sleeves up to her elbows so she would not get too hot. She could feel the heat in her cheeks still, the stranger's comments about modesty ringing in her mind.

Finally returning to where she had stood moments ago, she took a deep breath. _Where do I begin?_

"For starters, you are in my home in San Diego…" she said hesitantly. "And…"

"San… San Diego?" he interrupted. "Am I in Spain?"

"What? Spain? Try California, as in the United States, half-way around the world from Spain!" she scoffed a little too rudely, not knowing why she had reacted like that. Embarrassed by her reaction, she bit her lip again and cast her eyes downward.

Warning bells went off in Erik's minds. How had he wound up in California? How had he managed to not only cross the Atlantic Ocean, but also the entire length of the United States?

"That's impossible," he whispered under his breath. "That's impossible!" he said again, louder and more urgently. He attempted to get up, to run away from this place but found only the sharp pain in his body.

"Whoa, calm down! Calm down! We'll get to the bottom of this. Look, I found you on the beach, practically dead."

He had come from the _Pacific_ Ocean? Panic took him. Nothing made sense.

His eyes focused on the top Rosalyn wore. It was unlike anything he had ever seen. He looked around the room at all the boxes stacked against the wall, then back at Rosalyn. His eyes widened with something that was beyond panic.

"What is the date today?" he questioned, his voice shaking with fear.

"The date, today?"

"Must you repeat everything I say to you?" his voice boomed with impatience.

"Sorry," she said meekly, her cheeks flushing again with embarrassment. "I think today is June 23rd."

"No, woman! The year! What year is this?"

_Woman? Who does he think he is, speaking to me in that tone!_ she thought angrily.

"2005. You know, it's been 2005 for half a year already. A few more months and it will be 2006," she said in a condescending tone.

_Impossible! It's simply impossible_, he tried to reason with himself. _There must be a logical explanation to this!_ He closed his eyes but that logical explanation would not present itself to him. He must learn more from her! An argument within his mind erupted.

_Ask her! Ask her how you came to be in California in the future!_ Fool, she looks as lost as you! If you tell her you're from the future, she will cast you out and then you will surely die!

_But she seems caring and understanding! She saved our lives! _How do you know? You've known her all of five minutes!

_She took us into her home, despite our appearances!_ Our appearances? Our appearances…

Ever so slowly, Erik brought his right hand to his face, searching for the familiar feeling of porcelain, or at the very least, the leather of the mask he wore last.

Rosalyn could nothing but stare at the man with his eyes closed. Had he fallen asleep again? A million different thoughts raced through her mind, and she desperately sought the one that made the most sense. A traumatic experience could trigger bouts of amnesia. _Being thrown from whatever ship he was on could very well count as a traumatic experience._ The other side of her brain told her that she had only ever seen it in movies and television. What did she know about amnesia and head trauma?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the scream that pierced the otherwise silent air. It was not a womanly scream, like the way Rosalyn yelps during a scary movie, but a wail of loss, hurt, and pain. It was the type of scream she imagined would be heard at a funeral when a mother is burying her son or a husband his wife.

"Where is it?" he half-yelled, half-sobbed. "Where is my mask?"

_His mask!_ Rosalyn's eyes widened as she heard those words. _He coped with his deformity by hiding it from the world!_

"Where is it? What did you do with it?" he continued to ask, his eyes begging her to return it.

"I…I haven't seen a mask! You weren't wearing a mask when I found you!" she tried to explain.

"Liar! You little lying Delilah!" he accused, his eyes flashing a dangerous golden color. "Curiosity got the better of you, and you removed my mask! I know it!" Just as quickly as his anger had arose, it subsided into sadness. "Please," he sobbed, his voice barely a whisper. He covered his face with both hands. "Please give it back!"

"I'm sorry, Erik. I don't have it." Her heart broke at the sight of a grown man reduced to tears. She took a step forward, then stopped, trying to decide if she should console him. Finally, she approached the bed and sat beside him, leaning over him.

Before he realized what she was doing, she had gently lifted his upper body and propped him up to a half-sitting position with a few pillows. Grasping his wrist with her left hand and pulling his hands from his face, she used the sleeve of her sweater to wipe his tears. He was completely stunned by this action but could only look forward, not wanting to see the pity in her eyes.

"Look, I understand why you feel the need to cover your face with a mask. People can be cruel." Her mind went blank suddenly and she didn't know what to say next. "…But that's just your exterior. It's what's inside that counts." She cringed as she realized how cheesy she was sounding. _Watch much Barney?_

He turned and looked at her slowly, but her face had turned into Christine's!

_This haunted face holds no horror for me now._

_It's in your soul that the true distortion lies._

**A/N: Dun dun duuuun! Thank you everyone for reading my story! I really appreciate the reviews! Again, thank you!**

**If you're wondering why Rosalyn didn't put two and two together when Erik mentioned his mask, remember that she doesn't know what it looks like. Hint about her character: she is no typical Mary Sue! There are people in the world gasp who don't know much about the Phantom, including people who have never seen the movie! Double gasp!**


	6. Chapter 5: Tonguetied

**_A/N: Sorry about the slow update! I was playing tourist with a friend from out of town, so I couldn't get away to write. Thank you again to all the people who have read and reviewed my story! Shout out to Starrylibra for her continuing support! Now on with the show!_**

_**P.S. I added a few paragraphs at the bottom because I felt like the chapter wasn't complete as it was.**_

_Chapter Five: Tongue-tied_

_This haunted face holds no horror for me now._

_It's in your soul that the true distortion lies._

Erik looked in horror at his beloved's face coming back to haunt him. _She had returned to him._ He reached up his hand to touch her face…

Rosalyn noticed Erik's eyes take a glazed-over look and quickly snapped her fingers in front of his face. "You okay?" she asked worriedly.

Just as Erik was about to caress Christine's face, she snapped her fingers in front of his eyes, shaking him out of his trance. That action distracted him enough to move his eyes away to the hand and when he looked back, expecting to see Christine's face, he only saw Rosalyn's.

"I…uh…" Erik stumbled, angry with himself that he had allowed hope to crawl back into his heart. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, suddenly realizing how tired he was. Since he had left his lair beneath the opera house, he had scarcely had any sleep and just as he was about to rest, a storm had rocked the boat and made him fall into the ocean, where he awoke to this…mess. As his thoughts drifted to the scene on the opera stage when Christine had unmasked him, he shivered.

When Rosalyn saw him shiver, she realized that his clothes were still wet and the covers and blanket over him were damp. "Crap!" she cursed under her breath. "I am so sorry. I should've taken your clothes off!"

At that comment, Erik's eyes flew open again.

"Wait! That sounded so wrong!" Rosalyn turned a very crimson color and she hit her forehead with the palm of her hand. "I mean…" _Breathe, Rosalyn! Breathe! _"You could've gotten hypothermia with your wet clothes! I mean…well…okay…maybe not 'cos it's summertime in San Diego and it's actually quite nice weather. But anyone who's been in the ocean in the middle of the night could catch pneumonia…"

Right when she thought she could just about die of embarrassment, her phone rang and she thanked God for the distraction. Without saying another word to Erik, she ran out of the room to answer the phone.

Erik was definitely amused by this strange woman, and he couldn't help smiling at her bumbling manner. He could have been angry with himself and her, for who would want to undress a monster such as himself? However, her reaction was not one of horror but of genuine embarrassment. Would she have reacted in the same manner to any other man? A _normal_ man? Yes, he decided, and because of that and for her hospitality, he decided he would trust her with his story, even if she didn't believe him. He could only pray that she would believe him, rather than cast him out into a world he knew nothing about.

Meanwhile, Rosalyn had grabbed the wireless phone from the kitchen counter and clicked it on. "Hello?" she asked, slightly out of breath.

"Hey, kiddo! How's the patient?"

"Hi, Jacob!" Rosalyn answered. "He's awake now and it looks like his fever's gone."

"I'm on way over now. Christian was kind enough to take the rest of my patients today. Have you gotten a chance to talk to him? To ask him what he was doing in the water?" Since he had left Rosalyn's that morning, he had not been able to stop worrying about her. He knew perfectly well that she could take care of herself, but he also knew how naïve she could be about people.

"No, I haven't had a chance to ask him. Too bad you didn't bring Christian over! When you gonna hook a sista up?"

"That's not even funny, Rosalyn! Not only do I work with him, but he's at least ten years older than you!" he argued, slightly annoyed and feeling very protective of his little sister.

"Maybe I like older guys!" She stuck her tongue out, but more out of reflex, since he obviously could not see her.

"Okay…" he said, wanting to change the subject. "Anyway, I talked to a friend at the police station. According to him, nobody has reported anyone missing that fits his description, nor are there any reports of anyone falling off a boat. I guess you'll just have to interrogate him," he joked.

Then, remembering her embarrassing slip up in the guest room, she asked, "You know how we left him in his wet clothes? Was that wise? Could he have caught pneumonia or something?"

"Hmmm… I didn't even think about that. I told you, I'm a plastic surgeon, not an ER doctor! If he's okay now, I wouldn't worry _too_ much. Maybe you should run him a bath and let him warm up. I'll bring over a bag of old clothes that should fit him, as well as some crutches for his knee. I should be there around 6pm, so in about 3 hours. I need to run some errands before I head over."

"Thanks for all your help. I know you're probably thinking I'm so stupid for bringing some complete stranger into my house and…"

"Think nothing of it," he interrupted. "If more people were as giving as you, this world would be a hell of a better place!"

"Awww, aren't you just a sweet pea?" she laughed. "See you later. Bring food!"

"You got it. One more thing, give the guy some Tylenol. That should help with the pain. Ciao, kid."

Rosalyn put the phone back down on the charger and went to the cupboard to grab the bottle of Tylenol along with a bottle of water. Slowly walking back toward the guestroom, she took a few deep breaths to clear her mind before she entered. _I'll just act like I never said anything about undressing him. Yes, that's the plan._

"I just talked to my brother," she said meekly, leaning against the doorframe and slowly turning to face him. "He said you should get out of those wet clothes, otherwise you might get sick. I'll run you a bath and make some coffee. Then, you can tell me your story."

Erik observed her from the bed, a slight smile forming on his lips. "Thank you, Rosalyn. I don't know how else to thank you for all your help."

"It's cool. Don't worry about it. Here, take this," she offered as she made her way next to the bed, palm open with two tablets.

"What is it?" he questioned, eyeing her hand with suspicion before picking up and examining a pill. "Ty-le-nol?"

"It's for the pain. Here's some water. Don't worry, I didn't save you from drowning only to poison you later!" she smirked.

"You're probably correct," he responded, finally swallowing the two pills and washing them down with water.

"I know you French probably abhor American filter coffee. But, you're in luck! Fate has decided to smile upon you, my friend. I happen to have an espresso machine in my kitchen! Would you like a cappuccino, or maybe a latte?" she beamed, clearly proud of her expensive toy. Someone once told her that if you ever feel embarrassed, just make some jokes to take the attention away from whatever caused the initial embarrassment. At that moment, Rosalyn was trying her best to employ that piece of advice.

Unsure of how well it would actually work, she crossed the guest room swiftly to run the bath before Erik had a chance to answer. Rosalyn was fortunate, in that the condo had been recently renovated before she made it her permanent home. The bathroom joined the two bedrooms so that there were entrances from both rooms and even before the renovations, the bathroom was so large that it was almost the size of a bedroom.

Inside the bathroom was a large Jacuzzi-style tub, big enough to fit two people—though Rosalyn had yet to test that aspect out—and deep enough that the water could go up to her shoulders. The floor, double sink, and tub were made of a soft gray marble while the furnishings were a shiny silver.

The shower was just as extravagant, having two shower heads from the top to give the person the impression of rain and enough flexibility that one could control the water pressure. Forest green and royal blue bathmats covered the marble floor in front of the two sinks, adding color to the bathroom. Having nearly bought out Bath and Body Works, Rosalyn made sure she had a diverse selection of fragrances to choose from, even having a bath pillow to make baths even more luxurious.

"I'm not really sure what a manly scent would be!" she called from the bathroom, though Erik could barely hear her. When she didn't hear a response, she went back into the guestroom. "Is coconut okay with you? Or maybe raspberry. You seem more like a coconut kind of guy. Do guys even take bubble baths?"

"Umm…" thought Erik. _Does the Phantom of the Opera take bubble baths!_ "I think I can do without the bubbles."

"Right. Okay. I'll just leave a bunch of soap out and you can choose what you want. It'll just take a second to fill. Listen, I'm really embarrassed about that other comment about taking your clothes off…" she attempted to apologize.

"I've already forgotten it," he lied. Gently, he pulled the covers off his body, noticing that if he moved slowly, the pain was less sharp.

Rosalyn quickly helped him sit up and turn so that his legs were dangling off the bed. "Okay, put your weight on me and not on your left leg."

"I beg your pardon," he stopped. "But you probably weigh as much as my left leg, so if I were to put my entire weight on you, I am sure we would topple over."

Rosalyn crinkled her nose and shot him a look, which caused Erik to smile for the second time that day. She motioned for him to stand up slowly and winced under the added weight. "One foot at a time. Left…right…left…right…" They moved in sync until they reached the tub and she turned him to seat him on the side of the tub. Luckily that area was flat and, after having shoved aside a few bottles of body wash and shampoo, had enough room to fit Erik's backside.

Pleased that she had managed to help him over, Rosalyn walked out of the bathroom to get a towel from the linen closet, bringing back two thick blue towels and her robe. After checking the temperature of the bathwater with her fingers, she turned the faucet off and placed the towels on an empty rack.

"I don't have any clothes that will fit you…" she started slowly. "But my brother is bringing some with him. All I have is this robe. Enjoy your bath and I'll be in the kitchen if you need anything."

"Thank you again," was all Erik could muster as she walked away from him.

Erik sighed, unbuttoning his shirt as soon as he heard the door close behind him. After he finished undressing, he looked at the glistening water and heeded its beckoning call to find comfort. The medicine had begun taking effect, as he found that moving into the bathtub was a lot less painful than attempting to sit up and flee. The hot water enveloped him and made him relax instantly, especially with the bath pillow cushioning his neck.

To his right, in a row along the wall, were bottles of Bath and Body Works products in every scent imaginable. He uncapped and sniffed all of them until he found one that wasn't too feminine: green tea and ginger. _Honestly now! Could the Phantom of the Opera ever smell like sun ripened raspberries or mango mandarin?_

His thoughts drifted to this strange woman named Rosalyn and weighed the pros and cons of telling her the truth of his situation.

Pro: He wanted to be completely honest with her since she had been kind enough to bring him into her home and look after him.

_Con: She may not believe him and, thinking him crazy, may send him away to be locked up in some God-forsaken mental institution._

Pro: If he told her, she could be of great use to him, teaching him about this new time period and how to survive in it.

_Con: If she did believe him, she might fear him and have him arrested._

Then again, there was no evidence of wrong-doing since everything that happened in Paris occurred over one hundred years ago.

Pro: She had seen his face and still helped him, plus she showed no sign of horror when she looked at him.

_Con: All she feels toward him is pity, and once he is well again, would probably send him off on his merry way into an unknown world._

Pro: Twice in one day she had made him smile, a genuine smile and not a mischievous smile.

Pro: She was beautiful in such an unconventional way that he never knew existed; he had to get to know her!

Pro: Fate had saved his life the day of the opera fire and perhaps he was given a second chance to make up for his past crimes, or perhaps God finally took pity on him and gave him a new opportunity for happiness.

Silently berating himself for raising his own hopes, he let himself sink underwater to wash away the shampoo in his hair. He had given up the one thing in his life he ever wanted with his whole being, and now he was here, in a completely different time, in a completely different place. He rubbed at his arms, chest and face, trying to literally wash away his sins. When he finally pulled himself out of the water, he decided that he would be a new man. No longer was Christine an obsession but just a fleeting thought of the past. Persia, the shah, Buquet, Piangi existed no longer and he pushed them to the back of his psyche.

First and foremost, if he is to become a new man, he must come clean with the truth to Rosalyn. For all her help and kindness, she at least deserved the truth. How she would react to it, only fate knows.


	7. Chapter 6: A Klutz and a Phantom

_**Sorry for the really really long wait! I just moved and my internet is still not set up, so this has been sitting on my hard drive without a way for me to publish until now! Thanks again for those still reading my story! Now, on with the show!**_

_Chapter Six: A Klutz and a Phantom_

Deciding to finally put his past behind him, Erik said farewell to Christine the only way he could: through music and song.

_You were once my one companion_

_You were all that mattered_

_You were once a friend, an angel_

_Then my world was shattered…_

_Too many years_

_Fighting back tears_

_Why can't the past just die?_

_Wishing you were somehow here again,_

_Knowing we must say good-bye_

_Try to forgive_

_Teach me to live_

_Give me the strength to try_

_No more memories_

_No more silent tears_

_No more gazing across the wasted years_

_Help me say good-bye_

_Help me say goooood…_

Just as Erik was finishing his aria, there was a shriek and a loud thud as the door from the guest room flew open and Rosalyn landed on the floor next to the bathtub. She pushed herself to her knees, only for her eyes to land on a very naked Erik.

"Eek… I'm so sorry. I… uh… I heard you singing and uh… ok I'll let you finish your bath and your… uh song… by the way it was very beautiful. Please don't stop singing on my accord." With that, Rosalyn jumped to her feet, not noticing the water on the floor and slipping unceremoniously into the bathtub on top of Erik with another shriek.

Erik winced as Rosalyn narrowly missed crushing his groin, landing instead below it, between his legs. Neither said anything, but they both grew redder with each passing second, Erik for his nakedness and Rosalyn for her clumsiness in causing such an embarrassing situation and for Erik's nakedness.

_God, please kill me! Could I be any more of a klutz?_ thought Rosalyn. _Hmm… this tub IS big enough for two people. I mean… no… what am I thinking about? Get up, Rosalyn!_

She steadied herself by placing her hand on the bottom of the tub directly between his knees while the other hand landed on his shoulder. Moving to help her, Erik's hand landed on her bottom, making him blush even more. As her legs dangled over the edge of the tub, she pushed herself up a few inches before falling in the same place again with a splash. When she fell, her position shifted so that her upper torso and head submerged in the water and her legs came to rest over Erik's shoulders.

Instinctively, Erik grabbed her hands to pull her head above water. She coughed and sputtered out water. Unknowingly, as her upper torso moved above water, her legs moved down from Erik's shoulders to land on either side of his legs, effectively straddling him. For what seemed like an eternity, they stayed in that position, gazing in each others' unbelieving eyes and still clutching hands.

Reluctantly, Erik let go over her hands to cover himself, bewildered that there was a woman in his bath. When Erik's hands left hers, Rosalyn moved them to cover her eyes.

Then Rosalyn laughed, finally breaking the silence. It began as an embarrassed stifle but turned into a giggle then a full-blown laugh as she thought about the absurd situation. Erik could not help laughing with her. For a full five minutes they sat in the bath laughing at themselves before it died down into a snort.

_Why am I acting like such a schoolgirl?_ Rosalyn wondered. She could not remember any other incident as embarrassing as the string of blunders she had committed that day.

Erik cleared his throat before speaking. "Mademoiselle, it seems I am finished with my bath."

"Right," muttered Rosalyn. "Okay, I'll stay here with my eyes covered while you get out of the tub and get your towel."

Maneuvering his legs from under Rosalyn, Erik slid himself up out of the tub and grabbed his towel, quickly wrapping it around his waist. He cleared his throat again to get Rosalyn's attention.

She hesitantly opened her eyes and took Erik's outstretched hand before standing up. He put his weight on his good knee to pull her forward. As she stepped out of the tub, Erik handed her the nearest towel. Drying her hair and face, Rosalyn wiped the towel from her face only to find herself three inches from Erik's chest, which was coincidently at her eye-level. She took a step back, her eyes not leaving his torso.

_Broad chest, check! Nice biceps, check! Cut abs, check and double check! A few scars here and there, but that just adds to his hotness! Dayamn!_ Rosalyn had to use all the strength left in her body not to allow her jaw to drop.

Amused that Rosalyn was staring at him, he was suddenly thankful that years of creeping around the opera house involved climbing ropes and moving swiftly so that he was never out of shape. Though he told himself it was purely for survival, he also believed that keeping fit might help his chances at winning over Christine. _Christine…_ He pushed the thought away.

Realizing that she was practically drooling over Erik, Rosalyn turned around quickly to walk out of the bathroom, not remembering the water on the floor. Yet again, Rosalyn fell, this time into Erik's arms.

"This is just getting ridiculous!" she laughed. "You must think I'm such a total fool!"

"Not at all, Rosalyn," Erik let her name roll from his tongue.

She righted herself, leaning against the wall for support. This time she turned away slowly, not looking at Erik as she spoke. "I lied about not having any clothes that will fit. I found a pair of my brother's old sweats and an oversized t-shirt I got at some fair a few years ago. No boxers though. You'll just have to go commando until my brother gets back." She smiled slyly, trying to sound seductive but realizing a second too late that Erik did not understand.

"Commando?"

"You know, no underwear."

"Oh." It finally dawned on him.

"If you don't mind changing in your room, I'd like to jump in the shower before my brother gets here," she tried to change the subject.

At the mention of a shower, Erik thought back to the first time he opened his eyes and found her standing in just a small top in front of him. He shook his head and tried to focus on something else.

"Of course," he finally managed to utter. He walked into the guestroom, closing the door behind him.

Rosalyn clicked the lock shut before shedding her wet clothes and stepping into the shower. She let the water wash over her, leaning on the tile to lay her head on her arm. _What are you doing flirting with him? You just made a complete ass out of yourself!_

As she shampooed, she tried to forget about him, unsuccessfully. Throughout the rest of her shower she wondered what had caused his scars, both external and internal. Judging from the song she had overheard, she assumed correctly that he had just lost someone he loved. She wondered if she could heal his broken heart. _Ha! You barely know the guy! Who wants a klutz like you, anyway?_

She berated herself for thinking foolishly as she dried off and put on her robe. In her room, she thought of wearing something a bit more conservative than her bikini and boardshorts, finally deciding on a black off-the-shoulder t-shirt and her most comfortable pair of dark-washed ripped jeans. _How 80s!_ she thought as she faced the mirror, combing her wet hair and twirling it into a low bun. Finishing her look, she put on a thick gold woven belt over the long t-shirt and let it hang loosely on her hips, gold hoop earrings, and three gold necklaces of different lengths with a jade circle, a small ivory horn and the letter "R" in Swarowski crystals.

All but ready to leave the room, she suddenly ran up to the mirror to apply no less than two coats of mascara and red lip gloss. Not once did she consider why she was taking the effort to look good when her usual attire consisted of tank tops, shorts and flip flops. At second glance to the mirror, she decided she looked like she was trying too hard to look good. Immediately she tore off the jewelry and clothing and stood in front of her closet, scanning its contents.

Her eyes fell on a simple strapless white sundress that fell to her knees. _That'll do nicely_. She dressed herself and settled on a "less is more" look sans jewelry. Finally satisfied with her outfit, she left her room to check on her new friend, not knowing exactly what would happen when they came face to face.

Meanwhile, Erik had found the pile of sweats on top of the bed of the guestroom, which, to his dissatisfaction, consisted of a size-large gray t-shirt with the words "Ask Me about Studying Abroad" emblazoned in red and a pair of faded black sweats. The t-shirt fit him almost perfectly, a bit too snug to his liking but showed off his impeccable muscles. The sweats, however, fit too tightly and fell mid-calf.

Grudgingly, he looked into the mirror and barely recognized the man staring back at him. Gone was the frightening yet majestic opera ghost in his tailored suits, flowing cape and stark white porcelain mask. In his stead was a broken man. Time travel had not changed his disfigured face, but with all that had happened with Christine and the opera fire, the stress aged him considerably. Wrinkles lined his bloodshot eyes, which before were vibrant emerald but now looked a dull gray. His hair fell haphazardly into his eyes, however hard he attempted to brush them back.

He felt pity for the creature that stared back at him, pity for the troubles that plagued his entire life and pity for the love that seemed to loom just beyond his grasp. In this new time, fate had given him a second chance but without a mask to hide behind and without shadows to blend into. It seemed to him that fate had a twisted sense of humor.

Thinking back to the strange scene in the bathroom, he wondered at how much he had changed already. The opera ghost would never have allowed a stranger to intrude on him, much less at such a vulnerable time as during a bath. That intruder would not have had a breath left to gasp as his Punjab lasso would have done him in. _The opera ghost would never be caught dead in anything but tailor-made suits._

Yet he had to admit it to himself. The opera ghost existed no longer, and the reflection in the mirror only confirmed that truth. The only person staring back at him was Erik, just Erik the man, Erik the stranger in a new time, Erik the lost.

His thoughts were disrupted with a soft knock at the door. With the grungy outfit she had left him, Erik was completely caught off-guard at the sight of Rosalyn in a shoulder- and knees-baring dress. He felt himself even more under-dressed and blanched slightly.

"Hi," she said smiling. "Coffee?" Turning around, she marched into the kitchen, not checking to see if he followed. Erik could do nothing but sigh and follow her.

"I feel…"

"Sorry I…" they interrupted each other.

"No, you go ahead," they mumbled at the same moment.

Erik sighed again, motioning with his hand for her to continue. Rosalyn adamantly shook her head. "No, please, I interrupted. Please, you go."

"If you insist. I was just about to say that I feel slightly underdressed, plus these clothes don't exactly work with my figure."

Rosalyn giggled, trying to stifle it with her hands. Erik was a comical sight in his barely fitting clothes. She just shrugged her shoulders, trying not to look at what was clearly outlined by the tight sweatpants. "Sorry, buddy. You're stuck with those clothes until my brother arrives."

"Very well. Now, what were you about to say before I rudely cut in? If you were going to apologize about eavesdropping on my singing, then forget about it. I already have…. By the way, a cappuccino would be lovely."

"One cappuccino coming up." _Phew! We can just pretend it never happened!_

Erik walked around the counter separating the kitchen from the living/dining room and sat at the dining table facing the Rosalyn. The open plan style of the condo gave it the feeling of a studio. There were no walls enclosing the kitchen, living room or dining room. It was one big room with several sections: the kitchen counter stood between the kitchen and a black dining table with eight matching chairs, which in turn stood just beyond a large T-style leather sofa that encompassed the living room area. A black entertainment system, complete with a flat-screen television, a DVD player and several rows of DVDs, stood in front of the sofa. Rather than a wall enclosing the entire room, the side of the house that stood behind the entertainment system was all window with a breathtaking view of the ocean and a sliding door that led to the patio.

Once the cappuccinos were done, Rosalyn took a seat across from Erik and slid his mug over to him. He brought it to his nose, the scent at once familiar. "Want to tell me what you were doing in the ocean besides almost drowning?" she said softly.

"If I must, though you must promise me you will not interrupt and will only speak when I have asked you a question. Agreed?" he asked, looking into her eyes to make sure she complied. She nodded her head.

"I don't know why I'm telling you this but you've been nothing but kind to me. Whatever you choose to do with the information I give you, I am forever indebted to you for saving my life. _My _life began sometime in the _1830_s." She opened her mouth to question but was shushed by his hand in the "stop" position, palm facing her.

"You agreed not to interrupt." Dejected, she stared at her cappuccino. "I don't know how I ended up here but the last thing I remember was being on a ship, somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean in the year 1871. I have been many things in my life: a freak show in a traveling carnival, a mason, an architect, a musician and composer, but I will forever be known as the Opera Ghost in the Paris Opera House.

"You see, I helped build that opera house, and when I designed it, I created for myself a hidden lair. You can understand from my unfortunate _disfigurement_ (adding extra emphasis dripping with loathing) I was shunned by society. By having this hidden lair, I had a place only for myself and no one else knew about it save a few souls I had no choice but to trust.

"The only thing I loved more than sketching was music." He closed his eyes, thinking of how the acoustics of his beloved lair allowed the music from the opera stage to echo throughout his home. "I became the Opera Ghost and fell in love with a ballerina, who had ambitions to be lead soprano."

_I know this story_, thought Rosalyn. _Where have I heard this before? Opera Ghost… soprano…_

"Christine," she said slowly, not realizing she had said it outloud.

Erik gasped, staring at her wide-eyed unbelievingly. "What… what did you say?"

"I've heard this story before. The Phantom of the Opera stalked Christine Daae and tried to kidnap her… Wait a second! Are you telling me you're the Phantom of the Opera?"

Enraged, Erik stood up suddenly, causing the table to quake. "How do you know about this? Who are you? Why do you know about me?"

"What are you, delusional?" she snapped, standing up and backing away, grateful the dining table stood between them.

"How do you know?" he screamed at her, ready to leap across the table.

"What do you mean how do I know? I saw the freakin' musical in San Francisco with my mom the day before she died!" she yelled back, tears streaming down her face. Panic filled her mind. _How the hell did the situation go from a romantic comedy to a deranged killer flick?_

_**A/N: I changed the lyrics to suit Erik's song, rather than Christine's song to her father.**_


	8. Chapter 7: Blood and Tears

_**A/N: Thank you to all the readers and reviewers for bearing with me! Sorry for the really, really slow update! I've just moved to a new city so I've been adjusting and trying to make new friends and I only recently got the internet to work in my room! Argh… but I digress! Here is at long last a new chapter!**_

_**Warning: There are a lot of expletives in this chapter, so bear in mind the rating!**_

_**Another A/N: I haven't taken bio for 8 long years, so I'm just guessing about the whole blood test thing in the chapter. Shrugs You'll see…**_

_Chapter Seven: Blood and Tears_

The screaming contest had only just begun as Erik and Rosalyn stared across the dining table at one another, their knuckles white from gripping the edge of the table. Rosalyn's eyes were already bloodshot as tears continued to fall from her eyes despite her mind telling her to stay strong.

"What do you mean how do I know? I saw the freakin' musical in San Francisco with my mom the day before she died!"

"What musical?" Erik's voice boomed from his throat, betraying his attempts to also keep his wits about him.

"What musical, my ass! You're the one claiming to be the 'Phantom of the Opera!'" She raised the index and middle finger of each hand like bunnies and "quoted" him.

"I AM the Phantom of the Opera!" Erik spread his arms out, as if presenting himself alone would convince her of the truth.

"Yeah? And I'm Batman! Why the hell should I believe you? The damn musical has been around forever and a day!"

"Are you telling me there's a musical about me?"

"Are you telling me you haven't seen it? Aren't obsessed with it to the point that you believe yourself to BE the actual Phantom of the Opera?"

"I can't even comprehend WHY there would be a musical about my life or how other people would know about it? OF COURSE I've never seen it! _Merde! Je deviens fou vraiment avec cette fille ici_!" Erik's eyes burned into Rosalyn's, turning a golden amber that flashed with anger. It took breath away slightly, but her anger overtook her.

"You've never heard DUUUN, DUN DUN DUN DUN DUN?" mimicking the first few chords of the song "Phantom of the Opera."

Erik cocked his head to the side and stared at her disbelievingly. His throat aching from the yelling, he almost whispered his next few words. "And what, pray tell, was that?"

"The Phantom of the Opera! THE trademark song! Everybody knows the song even if they've never seen the musical. They even play a techno version of it at raves!" Obviously, Rosalyn was not tired of screaming and, if anything, her voice sounded more exasperated.

"What is a rave?" For a second, Rosalyn could've sworn he sounded like a curious child. He was no child and she would have no sympathy for him.

"For fuck's sake! Will you stop pretending to be from 18-fucking-71!"

"Don't use those words with me!" Again his eyes flashed like fire, showing how offended he was that she cursed.

"What word? FUCK? Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, damn, ass, turd, fuck! Fuck you, fuck the Phantom, and get the fuck out of my house!" she cried at the top of her lungs, pointing to the front door.

The silence that followed was more deafening than the shrieking that came out of their mouths. Rosalyn stood, her arm still outstretched, pointing at the door, her chest heaving with the anger that boiled in her voice. Her tear-streaked face was red with exertion and the waterworks in her eyes threatened to begin again.

Erik was stunned speechless. For the second time in his life, he felt the pain of guilt for his actions just as he had felt guilty of hurting Christine emotionally, for making her choose. Though he had been given a second chance, he realized he was committing the same mistakes. The damage had already been done and he had no choice but to continue with the argument.

"If you knew who I was, you would never dare speak to me in that manner," he hissed, his voice barely audible.

"Well why don't you just help me out and tell me who you are!" she said softly and slowly, trying to regain her bearings.

"I've told you already, and yet you refuse to believe me," he muttered through gritted teeth.

"If you were me, you wouldn't believe you either and…"

"I know how it sounds," he interrupted. "It sounds preposterous to tell you that somehow I've jumped 134 years into the future. But I assure you, mademoiselle, that it is every bit the truth."

"Prove it," she dared, crossing her arms in a defiant manner.

Erik threw his arms up, dejected, and searched the room as if the answer lay somewhere inside. "Bloody hell!" he sighed, having learned the charming term in a venture to London while the Paris Opera House was being built. He turned his back to her and took a few steps, his right hand under his chin and left arm across his torso in a thinking pose.

_That's it._

"My blood," he said so quietly that Rosalyn barely heard it.

"You're not bleeding, are you?" she said puzzled, suddenly the concerned nurse once more. _Why should I care if he's bleeding or not? HE was the one that lost his temper and scared her shitless!_

"No, but my blood is proof!" he exclaimed excitedly, turning to face her once more, still in a contemplative pose. He ambled toward the table again and placed his hands on the back of the chair.

"Although I lived in a lair under the Opera House…" he paused, glancing to Rosalyn, who raised an eyebrow at the beginning of his statement. "I was not completely cut off from the rest of the world. With help from a colleague of mine, I was able to receive scientific journals from all over the world. Now we may not have all the technological advances that your time has, but we certainly were on the verge of many breakthroughs."

Unconvinced, Rosalyn cut in. "But what does that have to do with your blood?"

"I knew from the medical journals I read that scientists were close to finding vaccines for different diseases that plagued my time, such as consumption and malaria. I do not claim to be a medical doctor, nor do I claim to know much about these diseases, but I do know that diseases tend to mutate and change over time. If you were to analyze a blood sample from me, you would find that I have a vastly different immune system than people of your time."

Rosalyn took a step back to lean against the island counter, placing a hand on her hip and biting the index finger of her other hand. She contemplated his suggestion. Was it plausible? She had no idea but she knew someone that would know the answer.

"Just because your idea _might_ be legit, doesn't mean I believe your story. But seeing as how I haven't taken bio for four years, we'll just sit and wait for my brother, who happens to be a doctor."

As if the fates answered her call, a knock came to the door. "Okay, we'll keep your 'story' under wraps until I find out whether the blood analysis tells us anything. Not a word to my brother about 1871." Turning away from Erik, she composed herself before opening the door.

"Hey, kiddo!" Jacob greeted, embracing Rosalyn with a bear hug. He pulled back from her, suddenly aware of the sick stranger from last night staring at them. "I can see the sleep has done you well, sir. My name is Jacob Evans. I trust Rosalyn has taken care of you well."

"Yes, thank you for your kindness. Your generosity is greatly appreciated. While I do feel much better, I am afraid that I remember little other than the name Erik, so that is the name I give you." He inhaled deeply, wondering if he would accept the lie.

Jacob opened his mouth to answer, only to close it, lost in thought. "Hmm… well short-term amnesia is not uncommon for those who go through a traumatic experience. Falling into the ocean would definitely count as a traumatic experience."

Rosalyn breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that while Jacob was not gullible, he had no reason to doubt Erik, at least not yet. It was time to test her acting skills, though she hated lying to him.

"I was speaking to him while he slept and he muttered that his name is Erik. Then, he must have fallen into a deeper sleep because he didn't say anything after that until he awoke."

"I see. Well, I'm not a neurologist so I have no experience dealing with amnesia patients. The mind holds so many secrets still. When your mind comes to terms with the trauma, your memory should return," continued Jacob.

"I was wondering, Jacob, is there some kind of blood test we could do on Erik? I mean, since we have no idea what his medical history is, it might help, in case we have to give him any medication. Or… um… something like that…" she stuttered, silently berating herself for not being smooth with the situation.

"A blood test usually isn't run unless absolutely necessary," Jacob said, contemplating the suggestion.

Looking up at him, she tried not to look defeated. "Oh…"

"But considering the circumstances, and the fact that I have a friend that works at a lab, I guess we could run a blood test. That is, if Erik doesn't mind." They both turned to Erik to find his reaction. All he did was nod in agreement.

"Well I have my medical bag with me, including a clean syringe. I can also check your leg and make sure everything is in order." Again, Erik just nodded. Jacob gestured for Erik to go into the guest room, noticing for the first time what Erik was wearing. "Ah, I have some extra clothes that should fit you better than those…"

Rosalyn began to follow the two men into the guestroom, looking down at her feet and pondering the thought that Erik could possibly be telling the truth. She ran into an object as Jacob's hands grasped her arms to stop her from falling.

"Sorry, sis. I may not be a general practitioner, but this is still a medical examination and it is still a private manner," he said gently, searching her eyes for understanding.

It took a second for her to process what he had just said. "Of course… I'll just wait here and watch some television." He turned to enter the room when her voice made him stop. "Thanks for doing this, Jacob. I know you probably think I'm silly for letting him stay here, a complete stranger…" Only half his face was visible to her as he stood in profile to her, one hand on the door handle.

Smiling in the way only a brother can love to a sister, he answered, "Think nothing of it," before closing the door behind him.

Rosalyn turned toward the television but pivoted and walked into her room, crawling onto her knees to search for something under the bed. Finally finding the box she wanted, she pulled out an old Jimmy Choo shoe box that once held knee-high brown suede boots. She sat in silence, staring the box before gently lifting the lid, her eyes misting slightly as she thought of the contents of the box.

The first thing she saw was a smiling picture of her mother staring back at her. Rummaging through the box, she saw little tokens that reminded her of her mother: an old locket with miniature pictures of her mother and father on their wedding day; a long, black silk ribbon that her mother used to wear in her hair; old birthday and Mother's Day cards she had made in school. It pained her to see these things again, but she found courage from the task at hand.

Near the bottom of the box, lay what she had been searching for: a yellowing playbill and accompanying program for "Phantom of the Opera."

Translation (thank you, Babelfish!): Shit! I am truly going crazy with this girl here!


End file.
